


A Pack of Two

by Divinae



Series: Steter Week 2020 [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Character Death, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Steter Week 2020, Survival, Werewolf Peter, not Peter or Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:40:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25639657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Divinae/pseuds/Divinae
Summary: Stiles has lived alone for years.Not by choice.Everyday he waits... with hope.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Steter Week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1849972
Comments: 22
Kudos: 331





	A Pack of Two

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I honestly didn't think I'd get a story pushed out today. It's been an eventual day. 
> 
> It could have been longer, but I tried to sum it up. I have to work super early tomorrow.

Stiles plucked off a medium-sized zucchini from the large-leaf plant and added it to his homemade straw basket.

Wiping the sweat off his forehead, he stood up and whistled for Roscoe, his fox. He’d found the small kit a year ago while he was scouting. He was laying next to his dead mother.

“Hey buddy,” he smiled as the fluff ball chipped as it twined around his human’s legs.

It was nice to have a companion… he’s been alone for years now. 

The end of the world was so much worse than any movie he’d seen. 

Survival isn’t the same when you’re the one living it. He actually thrived pretty well. It was the isolation that was hard. He might have magic, but to keep constantly using it can drain him. He learned that in his early days.

Now he reserves it for only important things, like keeping his wards up. They’ve saved him a handful of times over the years. Malevolent entities and beings are redirected elsewhere when they trip them.

His terrority wasn’t large. It covered about thirty acres. Sure, he’s ventured outside his space before, scouting for others or looking for new resources he might be able to use to live. 

It helped when he learned a spell that allowed him hidden large compartments in his book bag. 

Roscoe nipped Stiles’ finger, “Yeah buddy, I saved some berries for you.”

The fox helped keep Stiles sane. His voice was rusty from not using it. 

There were other forest life that lived within and travelled through his area. 

His home was a simple shack that he used his Spark to help construct. It took him months of scavenging to find the bare essentials. A mattress with a few worn blankets laying on it was on the opposite wall from the fire. He had a few pots and pans hanging near his fireplace. Also, there were herbs strung off the mantle that he used for potions. 

He was pretty excited when he found some magical books during a scavenging trip he and Roscoe had gone on a few weeks ago. 

“Ros,” he talked out loud, “I am going to make some nice looking zucchini and beans to cook for dinner tonight. It’s going to go well with the rabbits you helped catch this morning.”

He added some wood to the fire to get it built up again. The smoke could only be seen if you were inside his terrority.

The last people he’d seen were Scott and his dad. They were also the last humans he’d seen die.

His magic was still new. The only thing he could do back then was manipulate mountain ash, 

One thing he’s had is time.

He contemplated sucide, during those early days before he got control over his Spark.

He had hoped Derek, Peter were safe with Cora. They had been visiting her with her new pack when the world went to shit.

He missed his pack. Sure, he has Roscoe but he’s not another human. 

Against another wall he hung his photos. When they first all went on the run, he shoved a few pictures in his bag. Now he’s glad he did. There was one when he was a young boy with his mom and dad, shortly before his mom got sick. Another was he and Scott. Then another one, where they were older with their makeshift pack.

He had a few of Peter. One in his wolf form, his tongue lolling out and he looked like he was smirking. Another one was in human form, laughing and his head was thrown back, showcasing his thick suckworthy neck. Then the last one, where Peter had his arm around Stiles shoulders on graduation.

Dinner was tasty and he picked up his ‘new’ book to read before bed.

He learned keeping a routine kept him from downward spiraling. He even had a homemade calendar to keep track of the days and seasons. At the end of a year, he’d use some magic to conjure up the new year.

This is his tenth year.

He will be thirty next year.

“Come on Roscoe, one last walk and off to bed for us,” he opened his front door and stepped out. 

Dusk was pretty. Despite how the world crumbled down, the sun still rose followed by the moon every night. 

Goosebumps appeared on his arms as he watched his furry friend dance around the yard. . Something felt… different. 

Roscoe shrilled and ran around his fluffy tail twirling around as he chased a butterfly.

Stiles closed his eyes and sent out his senses. Nothing seemed off within his territory and the feeling didn’t make his gut turn. 

“Hmm, maybe something good will happen tomorrow, uh boy,” he patted his buddy on the head and headed back indoors.

“Goodnight, Ros,” he said as they curled up on the bed to sleep.

##

The sun was shining through his small window when he woke up the next morning.

His Spark was warm and active beneath his skin. He laid his hand on his chest over it.

He learned long ago to trust his Spark and instincts. They’ve saved him many times.

Roscoe rolled onto his back and waved his paws about, his tongue hanging out.

“Ohh, does my friend wanna play,” Stiles cooed and played with him.

Soon, it was time to go tend his garden and check his herbs.

It was also laundry day.

He had a small pond within his land, along with a small creek that flowed through it. 

In the beginning… When he was by himself at first he didn’t bother with hygiene. His scruffy beard and unkempt hair only made him irritable when his bangs fell in his face. When he smelt like a garbage dump he slapped himself.

What if Peter or someone else found him… 

He shaved on Fridays and washed in the pond on Monday’s, Wednesday’s and Friday’s. Laundry day was on Monday’s. He was excited when he found a spell to make natural soap that wouldn’t harm the life living within the pond. 

“Let’s go Roscoe,” he grabbed his homemade basket of dirty laundry and a set of new clothes and slipped on his raggedy tie-dyed flip-flops and headed out. 

He had sneakers for when he scavenged. If he needed to run, he didn’t need flip-flops to trip him up. Plus, he had raided an Old Navy and found dozens of flip-flops in his size and took them all. 

He had gone naked for a while, but being his usual clumsy self, he learned it was better to have clothes on to protect himself. 

The red fur ball shrieked as he bounded towards the pond. 

He had a makeshift clothesline down by the pond. He had some string tied up between two trees near the shore.

Later with his wrung out pants and shirts hung up to dry, he ran into the water and swam around. 

Roscoe ran about living life to its fullest. He enjoyed splashing in the shallow water while Stiles floated in the middle of the pond. 

He was slipping on a pair of grey sweats when Roscoe barked.

Stiles stilled and looked over to his friend who was standing like a statue. His tail stood up, puffed out, the small reddish hairs on his back standing up on ends. His ears up and pointed forward as he growled into the woods. 

Nothing spiked his wards…

He slowly stood up and stretched out his senses. Something large was out there. In fact, his Spark danced with happiness. Like it recognized the being. 

He wasn’t sure because he never had this feeling before.

“Hello,” he called out. He flexed his hands and brought up a small flame in both palms and he moved closer to his fox.

He could hear something bigger crashing through the brush as it made its way quickly towards them.

“Roscoe,” he used his stern voice. His companion’s ears flickered.

A large grey wolf with red eyes broke into the clearing.

The fox shrieked and lunged at the intruder…

The flames in his hands died. His mouth was agape with shock.  
This larger than normal wolf was the same one hanging in his house.

The wolf pushed Stiles onto the ground and leaned back and howled.

Roscoe ran up and bit him on the back of the wolf’s legs.

“It’s okay Roscoe, “ Stiles comforted his buddy.

He ran his fingers through the dirty matted fur of the wolf who was scent-marking the hell out of him.

“Peter,” he asked hopefully. 

The wolf flopped down on him and started to lick Stiles all over his face.

“Peter, is that really you,” Stiles wrapped his arms around the canine and hugged him.

“Please, can you shift,” he asked hesitantly.

The wolf yipped and got off of Stiles and shook it’s fur. It took longer than usual but soon the wolf changed to a man with long raggedy hair and a full matted beard. His eyes were the brightest blue ever. His naked body was covered in dirt and debris.

“My god, it’s really you,” Stiles brushed his hand against Peter’s cheek, leaving his scent behind.

The older man’s lips started to quiver as he raised his hands up to hold Stiles’ face.

Roscoe bumped against Stiles growling towards the new person.

“Ros, this is Peter,” he told his companion, “I’ve told you all about him.”

“Stiles, you named a fox after your jeep,” Peter’s voice cracked with a half laugh.

The older man put his arms around Stiles and squeezed. “I never gave up hope. I could still feel you,” he stood back and patted his chest.

“Oh,” Stiles startled and rested his hand on his own. It was where his Spark felt warm and alive. “Is that a pack-bond, it has been more active since last night,” he wondered out loud.

“I can’t believe I finally found you,” Peter cried as he rubbed his rough cheek against Stiles’ neck. 

“I always hoped you were safe out there with Derek and Cora,” Stiles hugged him tightly.

Peter started to cry again. “I’m the only… no we are the only ones left.”

They stayed wrapped up in one another until a bird cawed over their heads.

“Look, I just washed some clothes. How about you come in the pond and wash up. I’ve got some soap left. Then we’ll head back to my home. I’ve got some fresh veggies I picked this morning. We can have a meal and catch me up.”

Roscoe laid on the bank and watched the new stranger like a hawk.

##

Stiles had given Peter his scissors and razor to use as he prepared their meal. He had a small mirror by the bed. Afterwards, Peter walked around in a daze running his fingers over Stiles belongings as he checked out living space.

He paused and looked over the photos on the wall. A small smile as he focused on the small collage of him.

Roscoe stalked him the entire time with quick glances to his human. 

Peter sneaked some berries to the fox that Stiles had given him to win over the human’s companion. 

“How long have you been on your own,” Stiles asked as they sat down at his small homemade table. It was a tree stump and the tabletop was a bunch of branches smoothed down and tied together. 

“Many moons,” Peter said around a mouthful of food. 

Stiles had never seen Peter so uncivilized as he stuffed his face and talked.

The wolf swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “This is delicious. I haven’t had a real meal… well probably since Derek and Cora.”

“What happened,” Stiles refilled Peter’s bowl with veggie rabbit stew.

Peter along with Derek and Cora had broken free from the pack. They had thought traveling in smaller numbers would improve their chances of survival. 

Cora had died first as they were crossing over back to the states. A group of rioters had overtaken them when they stopped. They were two many even for the three wolves fighting.

They had to leave her body behind.

A few years passed. They’d met other small groups but they stuck to themselves. 

They were making their way back to California. Trying to make it back to their pack. They cried each time another packbond had broken.

“I lost Derek shortly after the Sheriff and Scott’s bond snapped,” Peter clasped his hands on his lap and blinked back tears.

They were crossing a river when the current pulled down stream. They fought with all their might and were tossed over a waterfall.

“Derek broke his neck,” Peter sobbed. “Then I only had you left.”

Stiles left their empty plates and pulled Peter onto the floor and cradled his head against him.

He told Peter how Scott and his dad died. They were running from some hunters and his father had tripped. Scott went back to pick him up to carry him. They made it about another half a mile when the hunters caught up and shot them dead. 

“Dad and Scott had yelled at me to hide, when they were closing in on us,” tears streamed down his face, “I watched Scott fight with all he had to try to protect both of them… but there's no surviving a bullet in the head. They executed my father without remorse.”

“Everyday I would wake up and sigh with relief when I felt your bond. There were times it is pulsed stronger than other days. These past few years I felt it grow stronger and it was easier to follow,” Peter relaxed against the younger man and yawned.

Stiles said he needed to let Roscoe out to potty and then they could go to sleep.

“It’s been an eventual day. A day I had dreamed and hoped would come true,” Stiles said as they watched Roscoe prance around the yard from the doorway.

“Yes. I felt your wards when I passed through them. Tomorrow…” Peter put his arm around Stiles’ shoulders. “Tomorrow you can tell me about this home and territory you got yourself set up. It’s very nice.”

Stiles puffed up with pride and rested on Peter, “Thanks.”

“We have the rest of our lives together now.” Peter kissed him on the top of his head.

“I’m glad you never gave up and found me,” Stiles confessed. “I have missed you a lot.”

"Let's head to bed, tomorrow is a new day. A brighter day," Peter's jaw cracked as he yawned again. 

They lived in isolation for a long time, but now finally they had each other.

A pack of two.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopeful ending. Did I miss any tags?
> 
> I loved writing about Roscoe. Stiles needed a friend.


End file.
